


I'm Not Going Anywhere

by platonicharmonics



Series: We Two Boys Together Clinging [7]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Catharsis, Codependency, Comfort Sex, Demiromantic Dutch van der Linde, Demisexual Hosea Matthews, Dutch and Hosea are Switches, Dutch van der Linde Has Bipolar 1, Dutch van der Linde Has Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erectile Dysfunction, Hosea Matthews has Chronic Pain, Lots of Crying, Love Reaffirmations, M/M, Makeup Sex, Making Love, Men Crying, Overstimulation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Mission Banking: The Old American Art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonicharmonics/pseuds/platonicharmonics
Summary: There were so many demons, so many devils, so many storms and shadows all vying for them, gunning for them, from the outside and from within, hungering to destroy them.But there, curled around each other, on that bed, on that night…None of it couldtouch them.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Series: We Two Boys Together Clinging [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898260
Comments: 23
Kudos: 68





	I'm Not Going Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> **Content Warning** for references to **past self-harm** and **alcoholism** , description of a **panic attack,** extremely brief description of **psychotic symptoms** , referenced **past emotional abuse** , referenced **past child death** , and, of course, **unhealthy dependency**.
> 
> I... got possessed again. This time, as my life is in absolute shambles, I've used every spare second to obsessively write this catharsis fic, fueled by [this drop-dead gorgeous fanart](https://the-curious-couple-fanart.tumblr.com/post/629783388477407232/if-you-cant-steal-a-heart-youre-not-a-true) by the-curious-couple-fanart.tumblr.com that pierced my heart with thoughts of Hosea and Dutch having one last, final night of love and safety. Please support her work, it's _amazing!_
> 
> Lastly, the title is taken from ["Duet"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aq8Zqb0q6fI) by Penny and Sparrow, which I also listened to on repeat as I wrote this.

**_Lemoyne, 1899_ **

Hosea sat up with a start from where he’d been lying on his cot and boring holes into the bottom of the staircase with his eyes, hours-deep into a mental checklist of all the moving parts that he’d set into place in preparation for the bank robbery the next morning, vigorously interrogating his memory. The near-slam of his door thoroughly jarred him from those thoughts, however, scattering them down in a cascade like loose marbles as his eyes instead strained to make out the features of the figure in his doorway, squinting against the dark. “Arthur? What’s wrong?”

Arthur shifted uneasily, still dressed in his outerwear - probably only just then going to bed at god knows what time of night, the poor boy. “Hey, Hosea.”

Hosea sighed and rubbed at his eyes, trying to moisten them. He didn’t know when the last time he blinked was. “You need anything?”

Arthur bit his lip for a moment and shifted on his feet again, drawing in a sharp inhale. “Dutch is in a bad way.”

Hosea frowned, feeling his heart twinge in his chest as all the remaining marbles slipped through the cracks. “How so?”

Arthur’s brow knit upwards and he crossed his arms, gesturing his chin over his shoulder. “He’s out on the back porch. He’s…” he twisted his mouth, tilting his head one way, then the other. “...unnerved. I don’t think he even knew I was there.”

Hosea was on his feet before Arthur was even done talking, moving to rest a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeeze it, firmly. “Thank you, dear boy. Please get some rest, now, all right? We’ll need you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Arthur whispered, nodding slightly. “Sure.”

Hosea offered him a small smile, patting his cheek twice - allowing himself the smallest victory in how Arthur’s features released some tension - before gently brushing past him to march through the old forlorn halls of Shady Belle towards the back doors.

The old, deep croak of the doors opening revealed the sight of a bright, luminous moon hanging in the hazy sky, quivering with smog blown their way from Saint Denis, corrupting its light into a sickly green. The shadows of the swamp out beyond trilled and croaked and hissed with the nightlife that lurked in its darkness, and Hosea’s eyes skimmed over it quickly before settling on the figure of Dutch leaning against the railing, body drawn tight and rigid like a marble statue, staring blankly out at the night as his back silently hitched up and down in a shallow, rapid tempo.

“Dutch?” Hosea called out softly.

No response.

With a slow sigh, Hosea carefully stepped up to his side and turned to look at the taut lines of his face. “Dutch,” he called out again, just as quiet. “Dutch, look at me.” He telegraphed the movement of his hand in a long arc up and onto Dutch’s hand. He  _ squeezed. _ “Dearest, please.”

Dutch’s eyes twitched towards him ever so slightly, and it was like a ray of sunlight permeating a stormcloud, holding with it the promise that it wouldn’t last forever, that its end was near.

“Dutch,” Hosea said once more, shifting closer and raising his other hand to grasp him by the far shoulder, squeezing tightly before gently tugging to get him to turn around. Dutch’s hands flashed up to seize him by the elbows and clung to him tightly, but Hosea simply grasped Dutch’s biceps in return, ducking his head to try and catch those dull brown irises. “I need you to breathe. One deep breath, can you do that for me?”

Dutch’s hands tightened around his elbows for a second, and Hosea nodded, straightening up.

“In…” he commanded gently, demonstrating by slowly sucking in a deep lungful through his nose and filling his diaphragm, watching as Dutch mirrored the action. “Out…” he sighed, slowly letting the air out of his mouth, and Dutch’s hold slackened slightly as he did the same. “Again. In…”

After five more repetitions, Dutch blinked - once, twice - then lifted his gaze to meet Hosea’s eyes, beads of sweat rolling down his temples and his nose, his hands settling to gently massage at his elbows. He squinted slightly, his brow furrowing as his mouth sank into a frown, and he cast his gaze down, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

“I can’t afford this,” he hissed, his voice trembling slightly.

"You're right. You can't," Hosea said, bluntly. "C'mere."

Hosea started to pull him in for an embrace, but stopped when he felt Dutch stiffen back to how tight he was before, his breaths picking back up. 

_ "Not," _ Dutch ground out, his eyes unfocusing, "not out here. Room.  _ Now." _

"All right," Hosea murmured, turning and switching his hands to hold Dutch by the bicep and his far shoulder to guide him, "let's get you out of here."

In quick, long strides, the two men made their way back into the house and up the stairs. Once their feet hit the second floor, they were practically running, flying past doors until they reached the doors of the master bedroom and slipped inside.

Hosea let go of Dutch to turn and shut the doors behind them with a sharp  _ click, _ then jumped slightly when he saw Dutch lash out at something on a table in the corner of his vision, sending it flying to slam into the far wall.

"Dutch-"

_ "It shames me," _ Dutch spat, frantically pacing up and down the length of the room. "Every damn time, I am  _ ashamed." _

Hosea turned and frowned at him, opting to instead cross his arms and lean back against the door. Dutch may as well have been shut up tighter than a steel trap - he’d have to wait until an opening, until a chink appeared in his armor for him to reach in and douse those raging flames.

“I cannot allow for this- this  _ weakness. _ There’s no room for  _ mistakes. _ I won’t abide by i- I won’t allow it! I’m better than this!”

Hosea narrowed his eyes as Dutch continued to pace a groove into the floor.

“The doubts. All the  _ doubts, _ the second- _ guessing, _ I- It  _ twists me up inside, _ I’m telling you, I can’t  _ do what I need to do _ with all this- this- this  _ doomsaying, _ from y- from everyone- and I-”

Dutch stopped, all of the sudden, turning and raising an arm to plant his forearm against the windowed doors looking out onto the balcony and the camp below, staring through the glass to the outside, his chest heaving as he planted his other hand on his hip.

Hosea stared at his back, feeling the energy crackling off the man like lightning, the fear pouring off of him like the Donner Falls. Silence hung in the room like a superheated pot of water, liable to explode if disturbed.

Dutch suddenly whipped around, and the look in his eyes wasn’t one of anger or mania - but anguish.

“You know I’d never doubt you, right?” Dutch croaked.

Hosea straightened and blinked back his shock.

This wasn’t just a chink in the armor. This was a massive, gaping hole.

Slowly, carefully, holding Dutch’s gaze, Hosea walked across the room to stand in front of him, close enough that their noses could brush. Telegraphing his movements again, he raised his hand to fold across the side of Dutch’s neck, the tips of his fingers sinking into the roots of the hair at his nape. He tightened his grip with gentle pressure, and Dutch shuddered, his gaze sinking.

“Why don’t you tell me what this is really about?” Hosea asked softly, ducking his head to press it against Dutch’s, and Dutch shuddered again, his breath hitching.

After a long stretch of silence, Dutch closed his eyes and shivered out of Hosea’s grasp. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t know what came over me. You should rest. Leave me, I’ll be fine.”

“Just tell me-”

“I’ll be  _ fine.” _

_ “Don’t insult me,” _ Hosea snipped, and Dutch flashed his gaze back up, his eyes wide. Hosea’s expression immediately softened, and he moved back in, framing Dutch’s jaw in both of his hands, running his thumbs over the man’s stubble, and Dutch looked fit to collapse. “What’s going on in that head of yours that involves me?”

Dutch opened his mouth and worked it mutely for several seconds. Slowly, he lifted a hand to fold over one of Hosea’s and pressed his face further into it, finally managing, “I trust you. I believe in you. Hell, more than I do myself, but I just… can’t shake… all this… I can’t- I don’t want-” His eyes watered and his lips tightened into a pained grimace. “Oh  _ goddammit.” _

Dutch frantically shrugged out of Hosea’s hold and skirted past him to sit down heavily on the bed, bowing his spine to hold his head in his hands, his elbows planted on his knees.

Hosea looked on at him, and the shadows cast over them both were weighed heavier by more than just the darkness of the walls and the trees blocking the moonlight.

California.

Montana.

Blackwater.

All of them, their chances to get out of the outlaw life, to keep the gang together  _ and  _ keep their lives.

All of them, cast away and left in ruins by a call Dutch made.

Hosea would be lying to himself if he said California’s loss didn’t spur a fair bit of resentment. 

If Montana’s loss didn’t spur thoughts that maybe Dutch was doing this on purpose, prompting him to cut things off between them lest Dutch think that he could have his cake and eat it too.

If the bloodshed and losses in Blackwater didn’t make him  _ doubt, _ delicately stepping around the man to pull members of the gang aside in privacy, to whisper to them to get out and get gone on their own, that this - all this - was  _ done. _

Standing there in that room, staring at Dutch sitting on the bed, cut in half by a beam of moonlight illuminating his lower half while his head and heart remained in shadow, Hosea could sense the same ominous warnings like a crocodile could smell blood in the water, a pattern he had grown too aware of, too familiar with, and his wrath bubbled up in his stomach, ready to lash out in an attempt to stop it.

And yet.

Dutch wasn’t making any call. He’d been quite clear from the start that this job was to be Hosea’s to lead, and while he raised more than enough concerns and warnings based off of more than enough “feelings,” they were feeble at best, and Dutch always yielded and acquiesced to Hosea’s assertions with the barest resistance. Now, it was the final night before the main event, the final chance to pull rank and demand that they throw away their best chance at finally getting enough money to  _ leave.  _

But here Dutch was. Working so hard to keep that storm inside him and stop it from destroying their path forward that it was tearing  _ him  _ apart instead.

He was  _ trying. _

And all at once, Hosea felt the venom in his chest collapse and drain away, his heart swooping like an eagle as tears stung his eyes.

With slow footsteps, Hosea came up to his side and sat down beside him on the bed, knocking his knee and ankle against those of the man he loved.

He doubted that he did anymore, some dark and terrible nights.

There were even more nights where he doubted Dutch loved him back.

But not tonight.

Not here.

Not now.

“Dutch,” Hosea whispered, reaching a hand up to cup Dutch’s face and lift his gaze up once more, to pull him out of the prison he was building for himself.

Dutch’s eyes widened at whatever look was on Hosea’s face, and his expression crumpled. In one swift movement, he slid off the bed and down onto one knee in front of Hosea’s legs, taking his hands in his. “I never forgot the promise I made to you,” he said roughly. “That night when I took you and the children out to the theatre and to dinner and we danced in that hotel room. I meant it. It wasn’t empty. I meant it, and I haven’t forgotten about it, even though you may think I have, and I understand if you think I did-”

“Dutch,” Hosea sighed, shaking his head.

“-but I do want that life. A life with you. You- You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and all this,  _ all this _ that I’ve fought for, sacrificed for, everything I’ve ever wanted to achieve, to define myself as - to live free as an  _ outlaw  _ and to spread the true values that make this nation great, to tear away at the system that’s blackened its heart, all of it - it don’t mean  _ shit  _ if I can’t share it with you.”

“Dutch,” Hosea tried again, opening his mouth-

“And so help me I will build you that house. A barn, a shed, a goddamn  _ outhouse, _ whatever it takes for you to believe me that I’m serious and that I love you, because I’ve never stopped loving you, not once. And I hope you damn well know that. All those arguments we’ve been in, any poison I ever spat at you, all those days with Molly, I’ve never stopped loving you. And maybe I’ve made mistakes-”

_ “Dutch.” _

“-Lord knows I’ve made mistakes, and I most certainly know that I don’t deserve you, never have, never will, and some days I don’t know why you even put up with me, but for some reason you do, and I know that things have been tough lately and that we’ve spilled bad blood between us over Angelo Bron-”

Hosea leaned down and slammed his lips into Dutch’s, making the man’s eyes flare wide as he stiffened and leaned away.

“I-” Dutch panted, staring up at Hosea, half-frantic, “I promised that I wouldn’t.”

“I know you did,” Hosea said softly, easing his hand out of Dutch’s to slide it into his hair. 

Dutch trembled, his brow furrowing. “But Molly- You said-”

“I think you must know as well as I and the rest of the gang that you and that poor woman aren’t together anymore.” The sad form of Miss O'Shea curled up crying in the corner of the foyer, locked out of Dutch’s room, had more than broken his heart. “She hasn’t been seen in days. Hopefully the sad bird’s run off and found better for herself than getting caught between the shadows of two wretched fools.”

Dutch grimaced and ducked his head. After a long stretch of silence, he said, “You… You said… that I can’t touch you again until we have property-”

“If I hold that promise, I’m breaking it now,” Hosea breathed, closing his fist in Dutch’s hair, and the man convulsed slightly. “You are released from it.”

Dutch stared, his jaw slack, thunderstruck. “Why?” he rasped.

Hosea tugged Dutch up off the floor and back onto the bed, turning to plant a knee into the mattress as he massaged at Dutch’s scalp with one hand and used the other to fan out over his neck, feeling the pounding of Dutch’s pulse thundering against his palm.

That pulse. That heartbeat. 

It was a rhythm that had been in his life for twenty-five years. That served as much as a war drum summoning fire in his veins as it had as a lullaby to soothe the aches of his heart and wounds of his mind. He had killed scores of men over the decades without hesitation or mercy in order to continue hearing its melody, to protect that sacred song, that rhythm of an indomitable spirit that took the sluggish tar of his own nihilistic beat and sped up its tempo into the warm and loving song of a partner, of a  _ father.  _ It inspired him to sing his own songs of mercy and kindness, to keep singing those soft sweet notes even when his muse lost its rhythm and spiraled off into violent off-key chords smothering all other songs around it, in an attempt to soothe it back into a harmony, back into the loving melody it taught him.

He had never taken any glory in killing, nor any pleasure in bloodshed. But to wield his sharp tongue and knowledge of how to sink his fingers into one's mind, to raise his bloodied hands and hold steady the grasp of a knife or a gun, to fell bodies to the ground out of a sense of  _ defense, _ of  _ protection, _ of  _ love _ \- as the discordant choruses of battle faded away to reveal that heartbeat calling out to him, calling him home, all the ice in his veins or guilt in his stomach melted away at the bright, resonating note that remained constant through all those years, ringing through his bones:

**_Mine._ **

He had not survived for five and a half decades in a world where most men didn't live to see four in a profession where men barely saw past two to ignore the fact that a job as ambitious as robbing a big city bank could end that beat, could silence its song with the sharp crack of metal like the crack of a snapped songbird's neck.

Nor could he ignore that his own song could be silenced.

Hosea stared into deep brown eyes, at the man he held in his hands, and knew that there was no more room in his heart for resentment. There was no more room for the lies they told themselves. He was far too tired to keep up their dance around each other. He just wanted it to  _ stop. _

He was so tired.

He was so scared.

There were only two songs in all of creation that were able to fight back the shadows that encroached upon his mind. One had already been silenced long ago. He refused to lose the other while it was still playing.

"Because  _ I miss you," _ Hosea whispered.

Dutch blinked hard and swallowed, eyes desperately searching his face, glancing down at his lips, pleading,  _ begging.  _

When Hosea surged forward this time, all the tension seemed to fly out of Dutch's back to propel him forward in return, crashing their mouths together in a deep and frantic kiss as Dutch's hands flew up to cradle the back of his head and fist white-knuckled into his shirt. Dutch shifted to plant his own knee into the mattress so that he could push at Hosea as hard as Hosea was pushing at him, mashing their noses together and parting their lips only to frantically suck in air so they could meld back together, their hands sliding to frame each other's faces.

At some point, they lost their balance and fell over onto the mattress, and the impact knocked some of the urgency out of Hosea's chest even if it seemed to only increase Dutch's. Dutch crawled on top of him and flattened himself over his front - Hosea took note of his planted elbows holding his weight up off his chest and diaphragm with a smile - and licked into his mouth as Hosea's hands fisted into his hair, both of their moans reverberating through each other’s jaws.

When Dutch pulled back for breath, both of them gazed into each other’s eyes, hazel and brown, brown and hazel, and asked  _ “What do you need?” _

Hosea snorted and Dutch smiled.

After pressing a few kisses to Dutch’s brow and nose and eyelids, Hosea nuzzled his cheek and moved his arms to squeeze Dutch’s chest. “Nothing sounds better than just being able to feel your skin against mine again.”

Dutch shivered and slowly nodded. “And I just… I just want you to  _ stay,” _ he whispered, his voice breaking.

Hosea let his head fall back to the mattress and gazed up at Dutch, air stuttering out of his lungs in what could either be laughter or sobs. He wasn’t quite sure which. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered in return. 

“Promise?” Dutch breathed, eyes burning with that desperate plea again, and it was the furthest thing from a joke.

Hosea’s eyes stung enough that his vision blurred. “I  _ promise.” _

Slowly, Dutch sank down again, and when their mouths met, it wasn’t with the desperate yearning of drowning men, but the soft and warm reverence of something old and familiar, as intimate as they knew themselves, as the sun knew the surface of the water.

Hosea moved his hands down as their mouths moved together and carefully undid the buttons of Dutch’s vest and shirt, then reached up to rub at the exposed skin of his throat and collarbone - Dutch hummed and Hosea grinned into their kiss - before pushing at the fabric, slipping it off and over his shoulders. Dutch nuzzled his jaw for a moment before pushing himself up to his knees, obligingly rotating his arms back to tug the fabric off, exposing the broad expanse of his chest and muscled abdomen pinching down to his thin hips. Hosea’s eyes danced over it, taking in that thick sheet of dark hair across his pecs trailing down to his navel that he adored so much, the large, thick muscles of his pectorals, the hardened ridges of his abdomen, flexing and glistening with sweat in the moonlight. The pale light caught on the harsh edges and hard rims of a plethora of scars - some old, some new. The cratered reminders of bullets that tore through his flesh but failed to take his life, the jagged lines of animal and knife attacks, the puckered white marks of burns, and the faint neat lines on his forearms and shoulders, left behind by the man’s greatest adversary, lurking in his own mind. Hosea’s grin fell.

Dutch’s shirt and vest dropped to the floor, and when he started to lean down again, Hosea reached nimble fingers up to undo his belt and slip it out of his belt-loops in one smooth motion, setting it aside on the night-stand before undoing the man’s pants.

At Dutch’s wide eyes and stiffened muscles, Hosea stilled and whispered, “Is this okay?”

Dutch blinked and nodded. "I… I just…" His voice broke and he shook his head slightly. "Didn't think… You  _ want…?" _

"When I said I wanted to feel your skin, I meant  _ all _ of it, zeeskeit," Hosea said softly.

Dutch shivered at the endearment, ducking his head and summoning a twitchy, hesitant smile as Hosea continued undoing his pants, sliding them down to slip over and reveal the jut of the man’s hip-bones, the thick meat and dark hair of his thighs, the partly-hard length of his cock. “It’s… been a while. Since you called me that.”

Hosea dragged himself further back onto the bed and pushed himself up to take off his boots and socks as Dutch did the same. He glanced to the side and murmured, “It’s been a while since we did lots of things.”

Dutch remained silent and avoided his gaze as he finished working off his boots and socks, shoving his pants off his ankles to join the pile on the floor. He jolted slightly when Hosea’s hand closed around his rings, eyes finally finding his again.

Hosea gently squeezed his hand. “Can these come off too?”

Dutch smiled again, a small thing. “Sure.”

Hosea tugged off the gold and delicately set them next to the man’s gun belt on the night-stand, then slipped off his own ascot, doing the same. He reached up to unbutton his collar, only to pause when Dutch’s hands closed around his. He looked over, and his breath stilled in his chest at the look on Dutch’s face, at how he was gazing at him like he was a flame in the long, cold dark.

“May I?” Dutch murmured, and the deep rumble of his voice in his chest had never been more gentle.

The light that flared up from his heart rose to warm and soften his own expression and shine out through his smile, and he leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “You  _ may, _ dearest.”

Dutch gently pushed his forehead against his for a moment before tilting his face up to press gentle kisses to his cheeks and brow, and Hosea slid his eyes shut as he felt those lips ghost over his eyelids, as he felt those large, thick fingers delicately slip the buttons open of his shirt and vest in a gentle cascade down the front of his chest. He opened his eyes again when he felt Dutch press his lips gently against his, then watched as the man ducked his head to focus his attention on unbuckling his gun belt.

“You’re not weak,” Hosea said gently.

Dutch stilled and looked up at him, confusion flickering over his features. “What?”

“You’re not weak,” Hosea repeated, lifting a hand to cup his jaw. “Doubts… fear… they don’t make you weak. And I’ve never thought you were weak. Not once.” Dutch stared at him in open disbelief, so Hosea leaned forward and planted a firm kiss to his forehead, the shelter of that great and terrible mess of a mind, all flowers and barbed wire, poison and medicine. “I know every part of you. I’ve seen all your worst days. And  _ none of it-” _ he reached out his other hand to reverently fold over the too-neat scars on his arm “-makes you any less strong. Any less of a leader. Any less of the man I love.”

A fog slowly filled those brown irises, dimming and dulling their light before they sank down to stare at his stomach, unseeing. Dutch murmured something, and Hosea stroked his thumb through his stubble. 

"What?"

Dutch remained silent for a long moment before finally saying, voice flat and monotone, "Blackwater was weakness."

"Blackwater was a  _ mistake," _ Hosea corrected firmly.

"I see no difference."

"Mistakes aren't weakness as long as you don't  _ run from them." _

Dutch's eyes rose back up to focus on his, the fog roiling as light and shadow fought for which got to overtake it first.

Hosea smirked, bittersweet, pouring gloss over all those jagged edges and loose ends. This wasn’t the night to try to fully ungnarl the knots and tangles of Dutch’s mind, and Hosea wasn’t particularly keen on cutting his hands on the barbs trying to smooth them out that night. Dutch being vulnerable with him, baring his body and heart and mind and soul to him again after so long, was already a victory in and of itself. He would not be an Icarus and burn himself up along with the brittle peace they were building by reaching for the bleeding sun at the core of that twisted cage. 

Maybe that made him selfish.

But this night, of all nights, he didn’t want to linger on everything  _ wrong  _ with Dutch. He just wanted to love what was  _ right. _

Hosea used his grip on Dutch’s forearm to gently tug his hand up to splay out over the fine silver hair of his stomach. “You should stop thinking so much and start touching me, b’shert,” he breathed.

A gentle huff of laughter puffed from Dutch’s nose as the fog and shadows gave way to bright brown eyes gliding down his front, twinkling like stars and crinkling at the edges as a shiver rolled through his frame. With renewed fervor, Dutch pulled off Hosea’s gun belt to set aside then quickly undid his pants, yanking at their edges until Hosea braced himself and lifted his hips, letting Dutch glide them down his legs to deposit onto the floor. Dutch immediately reached for his vest next, guiding it down and off of his arms to join the rest before he - paused, staring at his chest.

“You know…” Dutch mused softly, a silly grin playing at his face, “seeing you in nothing but an open button up always did things to me.”

_ “Oh,” _ Hosea mused, grinning, sharp and impish. “Cute.”

Dutch scrunched up his nose and squinted at him, and Hosea giggled, and  _ oh, how he missed this. _

“Shut up,” Dutch murmured, his voice even warmer and fonder than Hosea’s giggles, before leaning in to pry his lips open and lick into him, which Hosea glady opened for, laughing into his mouth as their hands came up to frame their necks and jaws once more.

Eventually, long after the laughter and mirth had died down, settling back into that deep and aching silence interrupted only by the soft sounds of their breathing around each other’s mouths, Hosea pressed his lips together to kiss the corner of Dutch’s mouth, his cheek, the corner of his eye, before slinging his arms around Dutch’s chest to wrestle and roll them onto the mattress proper, crashing into the middle of the sheets as their heads fell upon the pillows. The second they did, Dutch shoved his hands under his open shirt and clung to his back to pull himself forward and bury his face in his throat at the same time Hosea buried his face in his hair, both of them tangling their legs together, breathing each other in with shuddering lungs as they shivered in the heat.

Dutch’s skin felt so hot it almost burned, slick with sweat that filled the air with his smell, like tobacco and rosin and the tang of lemon. That old familiar scent, combined with the heat and softness of his skin and coarse sigh of his body hair as he ran his hands over it, as he rubbed his leg between Dutch’s thighs, relishing in that great beautiful expanse that he hadn’t seen or felt or pushed flush against in over a year, had heat pooling into and catching in his abdomen like an ember from a lantern falling on dry hay in a dry barn. The hard length of Dutch’s cock against his inner thigh made electricity zing through his nerves and lightning bolt into his brain, made him  _ ache  _ deep and terrible for easy memories of ecstasy and safety and love, of feeling Dutch shudder apart inside him or writhe under him in broken abandon.

The sound of Dutch's voice came through the fire like a gust of wind that carried rain, taming its wildness to burn calm and controlled, as he listened to his voice say, thick and splintered, "...I miss you, too."

And  _ oh, _ this  _ man. _

Hosea pushed himself up onto his elbow and pressed their foreheads together again. "You have me, Dutch," he said softly, working a hand up into his hair. "Do I have you?"

Dutch swallowed, his fingers pressing harder into Hosea's back. "Always," he rasped.

And with that, Hosea sank down to latch his mouth onto Dutch's neck.

Dutch sucked in a massive sharp breath as he spasmed, rigid, and Hosea knew by the way the muscles in his throat grew taut that he was about to unleash a bellowing moan, so he clapped his hand over Dutch's mouth to muffle the sound as he continued working at that neck, feeling it and his hand vibrate with that deep broken note as Dutch's spine arced upwards and his legs cinched shut around Hosea's thigh, his cock twitching against Hosea's hip.

When Dutch went quiet to suck in a breath and fell back to the mattress, Hosea pulled off with one last nip - Dutch's breath hitched - and removed his hand to hiss "The walls are  _ mighty thin _ here and we have  _ children _ sleeping."

Dutch blinked blearily at him for a few seconds, then wheezed out a laugh.  _ “You’re _ the one doing this. You knew what you were doing, you  _ fox.” _

Hosea hummed. “Fair point.” He hesitated for a long moment, brushing Dutch’s hair out of his face before nudging his hip against the hard line of Dutch’s cock, watching his pupils widen. “Do you want to go down this route?”

The amusement in Dutch’s face drained away, something heavy creasing the lines of his face, making him look older than he was. “You don’t… You don’t have to… You shouldn’t have to feel  _ obligated…” _

Hosea nipped Dutch’s ear sharp enough to make the man wince. “Who the hell says I feel obligated?” he rumbled, grinding down his own half-hard length against Dutch’s upper thigh, and Dutch’s eyes blew wide, studying his features in search of…  _ something, _ growing more desperate and tense by the second. 

Hosea’s expression softened as he stared down at Dutch’s face, his brow furrowing at how the man was doubting and overthinking every little thing. It almost... frightened him, seeing Dutch so lost, so unsure, so…  _ wary  _ in a space that used to be the one place they could both feel completely safe and carefree. 

This - moments like  _ this  _ \- used to be the closest thing either of them could call  _ home. _

And Dutch… Dutch was lying there looking like a stranger.

“Hey,” Hosea said softly, leaning down to nuzzle their faces together, trailing their brows along each other, their noses, letting their stubble scratch against each other with a soft whisper before he reverently swept his hand through Dutch’s hair again and tucked it behind his ear, kissing him soft and gentle on the lips, on his forehead. “You know I love you, right?”

Dutch's jaw slowly clenched. His eyes remained locked on his, glinting in the dim light, the stress lines and wrinkles on his face deepening once more, and the bags under his eyes looked so very dark. 

"...No," he croaked.

Hosea felt like he’d been shot in the chest.

A tangled mess of thoughts flew up from the pit in his stomach, but he ignored them all to instead trace Dutch's brow and bring his other hand up to fan out over that pulse once more. “Dutch, do you love me?”

“Yes,” Dutch said immediately.

“Do you  _ trust  _ me?”

“Yes,” Dutch said, instant.

“Then look at me. Look at me.” Hosea squeezed his throat, gentle and reverent, making sure those eyes stayed on his, unmoving, completely present and focused.  _ “I love you. _ I love you, I love you, I love you. Let me  _ prove  _ to you that I love you.”

_ Let me prove it to myself. _

A shiver rolled through Dutch’s frame, and he slid his hands up Hosea’s back, between his skin and the fabric of his shirt, to settle on each side of his neck, over  _ his  _ pulse, and Hosea suddenly became aware of it as it beat against Dutch’s palm, a strong and determined rhythm to Dutch’s uneasy flutter. Water was gathering in small pools in Dutch’s eyes, which were wide and pained and pleading, begging, half-crazed. “Please,” he breathed. _ “Please.” _

Hosea leaned down and pried Dutch’s lips apart with his, softly and reverently licking into him as he flexed his leg to gently request that Dutch open his. Dutch acquiesced with a soft, broken noise, and Hosea pulled away to kiss each of his closed eyes before crawling down the bed to settle between his knees, leaning down onto his elbows to wrap his arms around Dutch’s thighs and settle on his hips. He pressed a long, heavy kiss to the junction of his leg and his pelvis before meeting his gaze, slowly leaning down to kiss the hair at the base of his cock. “Is this okay?” he prompted, gently.

Dutch made a choked noise, shoving himself up onto his elbows to look down at him, nodding. “Oh, God, please.”

Hosea smiled slightly before lifting his head to press a kiss to the head of Dutch’s cock, once, twice, before opening his mouth and inhaling a deep breath before sinking down, easing his throat and repositioning himself so that he sank all the way down to the base with the ease of decades worth of practice, his nose nestled in Dutch’s fluff, before he sealed his mouth around its length and sucked at it as he slowly dragged his mouth back up, feeling every inch and vein, hollowing his cheeks at its head, and a glance upwards showed Dutch biting his own hand to keep his noises trapped in his throat, his chest heaving as the one arm holding him up trembled as much as his thighs. The corners of Hosea’s eyes crinkled as he pulled off with a wet  _ pop, _ making Dutch spasm, before he moved a hand to wrap around the base and brace it as he replaced the air in his lungs and then sank down again, bobbing his head in a fast and steady rhythm, eliciting strangled whines and whimpers that were smothered against Dutch's hand as he relished in the way Dutch's legs clamped around his ribcage.

In less than a minute, Dutch whimpered, “Close.”

Hosea pulled off once more and lazily stroked at his length with his hand, staring at the pre-come leaking from its tip and considering if he felt good enough to try and swallow Dutch’s load if he came in his throat. He opened his mouth and was about to sink back down when Dutch’s thighs flexed and tugged him back slightly. Hosea immediately looked up to Dutch’s face where the man sat, panting and twitching, a few strands of hair sticking to his face, cradling his tooth-marked hand to his chest.

“Want... more,” Dutch rasped, squeezing Hosea’s ribs. “I… I want…” He shook his head, blinking repeatedly. “How’s your cock?”

Hosea grinned and chuckled softly before sitting up onto his knees, heaving a large sigh of relief at the sight of his fully hard cock as he took it in hand. “Blessedly awake and with us this time.”

Dutch squinted at him and laughed a little, brittle. “...How’s it been this past year?”

Hosea quirked an eyebrow. “Are you asking about my sex life during our…” he hesitated for a long moment, trying to find the most delicate word “...break?”

Dutch still winced. 

Well, it sure broke something.

_ “Utterly miserable,” _ Hosea drawled, hamming it up, filled with a righteous flame that blazed with the mission to leap across the chasm between them, to melt whatever barriers they'd both raised against each other _. _ “While you were off whetting your whistle with your fully cooperative member, I’ve had the unique experience of an utterly barren sex drive that decided it would leave me alone save for  _ three extremely memorable _ nights. Would you like to know what those were?”

Dutch opened his mouth-

“Well  _ fine, _ all right, I’ll tell you!” Hosea huffed and clambered up the bed to flop down at Dutch’s side, making the mattress bounce, and Dutch’s warm laughter felt like a soft shawl against the cold. “The first night was in our camp in West Elizabeth-” he began, deftly stepping around the word Blackwater “-you and I went out for a ride, scouting out the land nearby, then that cougar jumped out of nowhere and The Count threw you into that huge puddle?”

Dutch wrapped his arms around him and pulled him against his front, tangling their legs together again as his entire body quaked with chuckles. “What the hell- Do  _ not  _ tell me that aroused you. I refuse.”

“My Big Cat in the jaws of a big cat?” Hosea quipped, and Dutch fondly rolled his eyes, a grin gracing his features, “Hardly. But after I shot that thing full of lead? You all soaking wet with your face all scratched up, hanging your shirt off your shoulder to look at that bigass bite and laughing like a goddamn idiot?” The image played behind Hosea’s eyes, clear as crystal, summoning back similar images of a Dutch much younger, with fuller cheeks, a softer stomach, and clearer eyes, sopping wet and bloodied and grinning around a busted lip after being launched off a stagecoach or hurled through a saloon window into a water trough. “Wanted to shove you face-first against a tree and take you right there, though you probably had no way of knowing, since my loins were left out of that particular loop. Then you decided to howl in victory, and, well-  _ that  _ was the end of  _ that.” _

Dutch wheezed and pressed his face into Hosea’s hair, bunching up his shirt in his hands. “Stop making fun of me.”

“I shall  _ not, _ it’s in my job description,” Hosea drawled, and they both giggled, nestling against each other. “The second time was in Horseshoe. I couldn’t sleep, so I mostly stared up at the stars, and I started thinking of  _ you, _ as I’m wont to do when I look at any stars, my thoughts  _ wandered… _ next thing I know I’ve got a raging hard-on, right there, smack dab in the middle of camp with Lenny snoring on one side and Bill making weird noises on the other.”

Dutch pushed himself up to look down at Hosea, a trembling grin on his face that was brighter than the moon.  _ “No,” _ he gasped.

_ “Yes. _ So I got right the hell out of there and tried to squirrel off into the woods, only who do I run smack bang into?  _ John, _ on patrol.”

Dutch flopped back down and shook his head, snickering behind his hand and screwing his eyes shut, and Hosea beamed at him, poking his stomach.

“So he looks at me and goes ‘Hey, Hosea! Fine night, ain’t it?’ and I just say - ‘No’ - before turning on my heel and marching straight back to my bed roll.”

Dutch heaved for breath and wheezed another laugh, turning to hold him again and tuck his head over his. “Lord, I almost dread to hear what the third one is.”

Hosea pressed a long kiss to the hollow of Dutch’s collarbone. “Two words- no, three words.  _ Gala. You. Tuxedo.” _

Dutch  _ chortled, _ leaning back to glance down at him with fond reverence, puffing up like a spring chicken. “So I was  _ not  _ imagining those looks?”

“Oh, no, you weren’t imagining  _ those,” _ Hosea huffed. He grinned, then rolled his hips against Dutch’s. “Nor, I imagine, was I imagining those looks from  _ you.” _

Dutch pressed a kiss into his hair. “I’ve been sending you a lot of looks this past year,” he murmured, though his tone was more light and warm than it was dark and heavy.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice them,” Hosea said softly, pressing another kiss into the hollow. “So anyway. You thoroughly lit a fire in my gut, and I had to  _ simmer  _ that whole evening, and when I finally got home and into my bed with the door shut, my first bout of privacy at the same time I’m worked up since goddamn  _ Montana, _ guess who didn’t want to attend the party?”

“...Oh  _ no.” _

_ “Mhmm,”  _ Hosea deadpanned, kneading Dutch’s hip. “I tried to coax it up and it wasn't having it, so I had to lie there, trying to keep my mind off you, failing horribly, just stewing in it for so long, and the ache got so bad I wanted to finger myself, but  _ guess who threw out his petroleum jelly _ because it’s  _ Lemoyne  _ and he thought he wouldn’t need it?” 

Dutch loudly slapped his knee and writhed slightly, laughing, reaching a hand up to wipe away a mirthful tear. “My God, w-what- what did you  _ do?” _

Hosea resituated himself so that Dutch could see his face, then made a show of suddenly dropping his own mirthful chuckles into a frown, somberly thumbing at his nose with a severe sniff. “I died.”

Dutch  _ squeaked  _ and buried his face in Hosea’s neck, cackling in glee with a long series of snorts coming out of his nose, and Hosea could only laugh in pure unadulterated delight, caressing a hand through his hair until Dutch rotated them both and pushed Hosea onto his back, then pushed himself up on his hands and knees, staring down at him with a large silly smile and eyes that shined with mirth, filled with twinkling light that almost made his face seem to glow, his entire frame still quivering with suppressed laughter. “Schatje,” Dutch giggled softly, and Hosea felt a breath punch out of his lungs as his heart skipped a beat, “you have my sincerest condolences.” They smiled at each other, Dutch’s laughter finally dying down, before his expression snapped into one of shock. “Wait a minute. So you mean…? You haven’t finished since...?”

Hosea’s smile faded away, a sigh escaping his nose. “Since last we laid together.”

Dutch blinked. He ducked his head to look at the hard arc of Hosea’s cock where it reached up towards Dutch’s own, hanging swollen and heavy between his legs. Those brown eyes found his again, and Dutch gently rolled his hips down, caressing their cocks together as he said, voice deep and resolute, “I want to make you feel good.”

“You really don’t need to do much,” Hosea said warmly, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. “I just want to make  _ you  _ feel good.”

Dutch shivered slightly, rolling his hips down again, and Hosea bucked up to meet them, splaying his hands out over Dutch’s back. Dutch leaned down and caught his mouth in a long, deep kiss, working his knees forward slightly and changing his angle, before he arced his spine and ground his ass downwards, gliding the cleft of it down the length of Hosea’s cock, wrenching a gasp and moan out of Hosea’s throat and into Dutch’s mouth.

Their lips drifted apart as they each dragged in long breaths, and Dutch pressed a kiss to his temple before nuzzling his ear, rumbling, "...I want to ride you."

Hosea gave him a wan smile and turned his head to nuzzle his jaw, gliding a hand up to work into his hair and massage at his scalp, making his eyes drift closed. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow,” he reminded, gently. “You don’t wanna be walking funny if you need to run.”

Dutch lifted himself up again to meet his eyes. “I won’t be walking funny if we open me up enough,” he countered, jaw set.

“Using what lube?” Hosea prompted, rubbing gentle circles into Dutch’s hip.

Dutch slowly, warily looked around his room. “...I’ll think of something.”

Hosea snorted. “Is this really the hill you’re going to die on?”

A slow smile released all the tension in Dutch’s expression, and his eyes flicked over to him with a sidelong look that was downright impish. “...As long as that hill is your cock, I can die a happy man.”

Hosea clicked his tongue and beamed him a grin, reaching up to cup his face, finding the same radiant grin reflected back at him. “You find something to slick you up with that isn’t  _ godawful, _ and I’ll let you sit on me. If not, I say we dry hump each other like a pair of young studs.”

“You have yourself a deal, Mr. Matthews,” Dutch rumbled, shoulders hitching with more suppressed laughter.

Hosea smacked him gently on the ass. “Well, get a move on, Mr. van der Linde, I ain’t got all night.”

Dutch pressed one last kiss to his lips before pushing himself off the bed entirely, opening up his nightstand to frantically dig through it before rushing to his satchel, nearly upending it with faintly shaky hands. A canister fell out and Dutch quickly picked it up, read its label, then cringed.

Hosea pushed himself upright with a chuckle. "What'd you find?"

Dutch turned the label towards him. "Pomade."

_ "Yikes." _

Dutch huffed a laugh and dropped the tin back into his satchel before completing his round of the room, coming up empty with a wild, frustrated growl.

Hosea shrugged. "Can't win 'em a-"

"Oh I'm just getting  _ started," _ Dutch gruffed, rushing over to start putting his clothes on.

Hosea lowered himself to lounge on his elbow, sighing. "And I  _ just _ got you out of those." He watched as Dutch's uneasy hands first mismatched the buttons on his shirt, then frantically redid them. He yanked on his pants and shoved his feet in his boots, skipping his vest and socks entirely. "Oh, because  _ that's _ subtle."

"I don't care." Dutch fastened his pants closed and staggered towards the door, one pant leg scrunched up above his boot, one pant leg over his boot. "I'll be back."

"You  _ better." _

And with that, Dutch slipped out the door, his boots hurriedly thudding into the distance.

Hosea listened to those footsteps all the way until he heard the front doors open and shut, and then he was left to the silence. 

Alone.

Slowly, he eased himself down onto his back on the bed and stared out the windows at the moon, glaring at him through the glass with that same sickly green halo. It made him feel even more vulnerable and exposed than he already was.

He pulled his legs up to block the sight and pulled his shirt closed over his front, holding it shut as he turned his gaze up to stare at the ceiling, trying his best not to think of how he was in Dutch's bedroom.

Trying his best not to second-guess or doubt what he was doing there. What he was  _ doing. _

Trying not to let his thoughts wander back to exactly how deep and ugly things had broken between them. Had  _ changed _ between them.

Trying not to think about how it was impossible for things to go back to how they were.

He screwed his eyes shut and felt a tear leak out.

His jaw clenched.

_ If we can just do this bank job, get it done, everything will be okay. _ He repeated it like a mantra.  _ Dutch will calm down. He'll come back around. And more importantly, _ they'll  _ be  _ safe.

Just one last job. One last heist. His coup de grâce. 

He didn't much care what happened to him and Dutch. They both already lived past most men's lifetimes, and with each passing day, it felt more and more like they were lingering instead of living. But those young souls under their care? The children in their flock? Their sons and daughters, their grandson? It was still their time. They could still get a happy ending. They could still live their lives in a way that gave them meaning.

They were the only things that gave  _ his _ life meaning.

There once was a time where he thought Dutch was the sole meaning of life, but he'd grown far wiser since those days. He could never leave Dutch's side, he knew that - they were bound together like two trees that had entangled and fused their roots, weaving their trunks together like a rope. He was bound to him by something deeper than marriage, and he made his peace with the possibility that Dutch would drag him back into a life of crime wherever they'd end up, that they'd leave the world in a hail of bullets.

But as long as it was he and Dutch, and not  _ them, _ he could die in peace - no matter how violent his end.

The silence stretched on.

He could hear the ticking of his pocket watch coming from his vest. Could feel his heartbeat uneasily murmur in his chest.

Either one of them could die tomorrow. And the other could live.

It seemed a crime against nature.

If Dutch died, and he lived… he didn't think it would be true living. Surely, if Dutch died, his soul would go with him, whether his body did or not. He could see things through, he knew he could - long enough to see the others safe. But he wouldn't be fully alive. And the pain of living in a world where Dutch was taken from him would be worse than anything his joints or nerves or lungs, that bullets or knives or fire could ever summon.

If he died, and  _ Dutch _ lived…

Hosea frowned and furrowed his brow, maneuvering himself under the covers to curl onto his side, an arm around his stomach.

Soon enough, the sound of boots came flying across the main floor and thundering up the stairs. They hurried towards the bedroom doors, and then Dutch was slipping inside and snapping them shut, victoriously holding up a bottle and crowing,  _ "Olive oil. _ I stole it from Pearson's w-" His eyes finally took in Hosea, and his expression fell, his eyes going wide in worry. "Hosea? What's wrong?"

Hosea slowly reached out for him, mute.

Dutch immediately set the bottle on the night stand, forgotten, and deftly toed off his boots to climb into bed with him, curling around him and cinching him against his front, pressing his hands hard against his back to smooth them down the fabric of his shirt, tucking his nose into his hair. "What's wrong?" he repeated, softly.

Hosea huffed, slowly unwinding in Dutch's hold. "...I'm thinking too much."

He felt Dutch’s lips pull into a small smile against his forehead. “You’re supposed to think. Thinking too much is my thing.”

“Yeah, well,” Hosea sighed, reaching his arms up to clutch at Dutch’s shirt, “I’m tired of thinkin’.”

“Hosea,” Dutch said softly, pulling back from him to meet his gaze, “are you… thinking about- this?” he whispered, caressing Hosea’s bare hip. “Because it’s okay to change your mind.”

Hosea shook his head. “I’m the one who railroaded you into this, remember?”

Dutch hesitated for a long moment, his muscles tensing. “...So you  _ are  _ thinking about this.”

“Dutch for fuck’s sake,” Hosea hissed, yanking on the man’s shirt to drag himself up and plant a kiss on his lips and ram their foreheads together, screwing his eyes shut. “I’m sad and scared and  _ sorry.” _

Nothing happened for a long minute.

Then, slowly, one of Dutch’s hands came up to thread his fingers into his silver hair, cradling the back of his head, and Hosea felt his lips press gentle kisses over his eyelids, making them relax and drift open slightly. “So am I,” Dutch breathed.

Hosea looked up and stared into his eyes, pools of dark and earthy brown, open and earnest.  _ Clear. _ Shining with truth.

Truth.

They had a great power to defeat tomorrow.

It was time for them to stop lying to each other.

"I love you.”

And just like that, those brown irises  _ lit up _ with the most beautiful and gentle glow, warming his old and tired bones better than the sun, clearing away the last lingering clouds of pain, bitterness, and regret that hung between them, radiant and all-encompassing, filling up his chest, leaving no more room for the shadows of fear. It was an old and dearly familiar light, so often blocked and smothered by the storms that filled the man’s head. Part of Hosea feared that all that darkness Dutch sponged into his heart may have extinguished it, but _ there it was,  _ even though none of that darkness had gone away - was instead a new and permanent part of the whole. And yet, he felt…  _ alive. _ He felt  _ hopeful. _ He felt  _ safe. _

He was home.

“I love you, too,” Dutch replied, strong and resolute, spoken around a smile, and his voice was the sweetest song.

Hosea took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Dutch’s chest, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “Let me open you up.”

Dutch nuzzled his hair. “Nothing would make me happier.”

After pressing a heavy kiss and nuzzle to Dutch’s jaw, Hosea pushed himself up and reached over for the olive oil. “We’re going to ruin these sheets, you know that, right?”

Dutch laughed and undid his pants, shucking them off and onto the floor. “I don’t care.”

Hosea huffed out of his nose, smiling wide as he rolled his shoulders to shrug his shirt off. “You know, in our house, I’m going to make us fuck on the floor rather than stain our sheets.”

Dutch’s eyes hungrily trailed down the lengths of his arms as he undid the buttons of his shirt. “Sounds splintery.”

Hosea’s shirt fell to the floor, swiftly followed by Dutch’s, and Hosea fondly shook his head as he unscrewed the olive oil cap, dipping his finger in. “Maybe I’ll make us a special quilt for it. Or even teach you how to sew and we can make it together. Now hike a leg up.”

Dutch obligingly grabbed under his knee and rolled onto his side, pulling his leg upwards as Hosea hurriedly slipped his hand down over his entrance to try and minimize the drips, fumblingly attempting to close the bottle again with one hand. Dutch laughed and reached over to close it for him, and Hosea huffed in thanks as Dutch set the bottle aside, allowing Hosea to sink down to the mattress and nuzzle up against Dutch’s front, running his finger in gentle circles around Dutch’s entrance and making the man shiver. “Ready?”

Dutch hitched a breath, slowly caressing up and down Hosea's side. "...I just had a thought."

Hosea quirked a brow, stilling his finger. "Oh?"

Dutch met his eyes and smiled. "I know there's the risk of you… losing this early," he said gently, rolling his hips to bump his hard cock against Hosea's, "and I don't want you to be disappointed if that happens, so if it  _ does… _ would you like me to fuck you? And would you like me to open you up at the same time you open me?"

Hosea swallowed thickly, rolling his hips forward to press their groins together as he kissed Dutch's cheek. "Yes. Yes, I- Yes. Yes."

Dutch chuckled and reached behind him for the olive oil, slicking his own finger and wrapping his arm around Hosea's hip, and Hosea twitched as he felt warm glossy liquid and pressure push against his entrance, making him mash his forehead against Dutch's. Dutch kissed him on the lips and rumbled, "I'm ready when you are."

"Oh God we're doing this," Hosea chuckled, nuzzling their noses together as he worked Dutch's bottom leg between his own. "Ready."

They both flexed their arms to ready themselves, then Hosea slipped his finger into Dutch at the same time he felt the soft sting and stretch of Dutch breaching him, and they both gasped against each other's mouths.

Hosea couldn't help but lean forward and capture Dutch's mouth in his, fortuitously capturing a loud moan as he started moving his finger, gently easing it further inwards. After a long few seconds, Dutch seemed to suddenly remember he had to move his own finger for Hosea to get anywhere. Hosea laughed into his mouth as they exchanged breaths, and Dutch gave him a complaining whine in return.

They continued laying there, kissing slowly and lazily, steadily slicking each other while occasionally mewling or moaning into other's mouths for several long minutes, lost in the sensations of each other and the sweet, warm haze that settled in their minds. Eventually, Hosea parted his lips from Dutch's and shook himself slightly, heaving a breath. "I can barely feel your finger anymore. How about you?"

Dutch blinked, his hips canting slightly. "Nope."

"Time to upgrade to two?" Hosea prompted with a smile.

Dutch nodded and beamed. "I think it's time, yes."

Carefully, they eased their fingers out of each other and gently bumped their foreheads together before Dutch reached behind him for the olive oil again. As they both worked at slicking up two fingers, Hosea mused, "I'm thinking of going up to four."

A breath punched out of Dutch's lungs. "I- won't complain," he said with a chuckle. "Guess I'll do the same for you then." 

Hosea grinned as Dutch put the bottle back once more. "Lord, neither of us will be able to walk after this."

Dutch hummed and kissed him. "Well, as long as we can walk by mornin'." Hosea made a soft, warm noise of agreement.

Over the course of the next forty-five minutes, they worked their way up from two, to three, and by the the time they worked up to four, Dutch was completely incoherent, biting a pillow to stifle his noises, laying on his back from when they'd changed positions to ease the growing pain in Hosea's wrist, barely able to move his own hand in Hosea where he knelt perpendicular to his hip, leaving him to rock back and forth on Dutch's fingers as he glided his hand in and out of Dutch, whispering stuttering praise of "G-Good job, you're doing s-so good, you  _ feel _ so good, oh God,  _ Dutch, _ b-beautiful, that's it-"

After one more long minute, when the pain in his wrist and shoulder and knees were a bit too much, Hosea panted for breath and stilled his hand, using his other to stroke himself twice, squeezing his own achingly hard length. "You still wanna ride me, sweetheart?"

Dutch sucked in a large, shivering breath and let go of the pillow, swallowing thickly before gasping out, "Yes."

"Well I think I'm hard enough for it all right," Hosea huffed with a smile, shivering himself, thanking whatever gods of fertility were looking over him in that moment.

With great care, they both eased their fingers out of each other - Dutch choked slightly and Hosea's arm gave out, sending him crashing into Dutch's stomach - and Dutch eased him over onto his back with his head on the pillows, pressing a kiss to the corner of his eye before shakily dragging himself across the bed to the bedside table with his wash basin and face rag. He grabbed the cloth, wet it, then scrubbed at his hand to wipe it clean, then rinsed it before rolling over and grabbing Hosea's hand to do the same. Hosea smiled and fondly shook his head at the sacrifice, staring at Dutch like he stared at the stars, finding the sights inspiring equal measures of awe. 

After the cloth was abandoned in the basin, Dutch pushed himself up on trembling knees and hurried to straddle Hosea's hips, panting. He tried and failed to line up Hosea's cock with his entrance twice before Hosea reached down to help, giggling softly as he held his cock steady with one hand and guided Dutch's hip with the other. When he felt the head of his cock nestle against Dutch's open hole, he whispered, "Remember to be  _ quiet." _

Dutch hissed between his chattering teeth and chastisingly splayed a hand out over Hosea's stomach before closing his eyes and dragging in a long, deep breath to steel himself. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes again to meet Hosea's, and Hosea beamed at him, massaging his hip. The corners of Dutch's eyes crinkled and he ducked his head slightly, then took one more deep breath before slowly easing himself down onto Hosea's cock, ensconcing it in warm, soft, wet heat, comfortably loose. Both men choked back moans and whimpers and clutched at each other, wrapping their hands around each other's forearms until Dutch bottomed out with a sharp gasp. 

Hosea tightened his hands around Dutch's arms to stop himself from bucking upwards, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles on his skin. "I missed this," he said roughly. 

Dutch's eyes rolled back from where they'd rolled back into his head, blinking a few times before slowly widening. "I… missed this, too," he said softly, his gaze slowly and reverently roaming over every square inch of Hosea it could reach, taking in and lingering on all the fine silver hair that ghosted across his chest and stomach, on the musculature of his chest, his arms, on each cratered bullet scar and twisted knife or bite wound. Dutch gently let go of Hosea's arms and reached down to caress each one of them, dragging his fingertips over the raised or sunken hardened skin, tracing them with a quiet expression, thoughts flowing into his eyes like water.

Hosea's expression softened as he eased his own gaze down to take in all of Dutch's scars once more. They'd both lived through so much that scarred them - their bodies and their minds.

Too much.

Softly, Hosea began, "'I thought that knowledge alone would suffice me—O if I could but obtain knowledge! Then my lands engrossed me—Lands of the prairies, Ohio's land, the southern savannas, engrossed me—For them I would live—I would be their orator-'"

Dutch's eyes snapped to his face and his jaw dropped open, his entire body straightening and brightening in recognition.

Hosea lifted his eyes to Dutch's and shined all the light in his own chest out through his smile, easing his hands down Dutch's arms to his hands, pressing their palms together and interlacing their fingers. "'Then I met the examples of old and new heroes—I heard of warriors, sailors, and all dauntless persons—And it seemed to me that I too had it in me to be as dauntless as any—and would be so; And then, to enclose all, it came to me to strike up the songs of the New World—And then I believed my life must be spent in singing-'"

Dutch used Hosea's hands to push himself up and brace himself, staring resolutely at Hosea's chest with a beaming, radiant smile as he started moving.

Hosea opened his mouth to continue, but let out a strained whimper instead, twitching his hips upwards as Dutch sank down. Dutch chuckled, deep warm notes that rolled through Hosea's hands and across his ribs like a river. Hosea chastisingly squeezed Dutch's hands and wiggled them a little, making Dutch's chuckle melt into a giggle, and he managed to continue through hitching breaths, "'But now take notice, land of the prairies, land of the south savannas, Ohio's land, Take notice, you Kanuck woods—and you Lake Huron—and all that with you roll toward Niagara—and you Niagara also, And you, Californian mountains—That you each and all find somebody else to be your singer of songs-'"

Dutch started moving faster, his smile and laughter breaking down to open-mouthed panting, and Hosea snapped his hips up as he sank down again, making him throw his head back in a breathless shout.

"'-For I can be your singer of songs no longer—One who loves me is jealous of me-'" he squeezed Dutch's hands again and the man's head lolled downwards, his eyes blinking open to look at him through his lashes "'-and withdraws me from all but love; With the rest I dispense—I sever from what I thought would suffice me, for it does not—it is now empty and tasteless to me; I heed knowledge, and the grandeur of The States, and the example of heroes, no more-'"

Dutch blinked, once, twice, and Hosea saw a tear fall to splash onto his stomach, watched as his mouth pressed into a thin line, felt his walls tighten around his cock as he slowed down and came to a stop, quivering. Hosea furrowed his brow and used Dutch's hands to pull himself up, and Dutch helped, tugging him until they both sat, with Dutch in Hosea's lap, and their foreheads naturally fell together as Hosea turned one of his hands to curl tightly around Dutch's at the same time Dutch freed his other hand to curl around Hosea's back. Hosea nudged his head forward and mouthed  _ You okay?, _ to which Dutch nodded with a shaky smile, hiding his face in the crook of Hosea's neck, which felt more hot drops fall onto its skin.

Hosea tucked his nose into Dutch's hair and slowly closed his eyes, raising his free hand to hold him close. After a slow, reverent inhale, filled with all the scents of Dutch, he finished, voice thick, "'I am indifferent to my own songs—I will go with him I love; It is to be enough for us that we are together—We never separate again.'"

A sob burst from Dutch's chest like a gunshot, bringing with it a wave of tremors that rolled through his frame. He hitched a breath, then clung to Hosea tighter, sobbing and weeping into his shoulder. Hosea's expression crumpled as he tightened his hand around Dutch and started stroking up and down his back, burying his nose further in Dutch's hair, whispering, "Shhh shh shh, sweetheart."

_ "I'm sorry." _

"It's oka-"

_ "No," _ Dutch sobbed, gasping in a breath. "For everything."

Hosea stayed quiet, opting to press a kiss into Dutch's hair.

"I haven't been thinking right lately," Dutch choked out. He shuddered in a breath and wept, "Sometimes I don't know myself no more."

"Dearest," Hosea whispered, squeezing him tighter. "It's okay. You're okay."

"I've  _ missed you, _ and I- and I miss Arthur. I miss John. Why can't we just go  _ back?" _

Hosea took a deep breath. "Zeeskeit, we can't take back what's done."

"I don't  _ want _ things to  _ change." _

"They're changing whether we like it or not, darling."

"I'm the only thing that hasn't changed. You changed on me. They changed. And I feel like I'm being left behind."

Hosea clenched his jaw and opened his eyes, pressing another kiss into his hair. "Then  _ come with us." _

_ "I'm trying. _ By God, I'm trying, I'm trying, you have to believe me, I'm  _ try-" _

"Shhh shh sh sh… I know you're trying, b'shert, I know you are."

Dutch let out another sob that he smothered into Hosea's neck. "I don't want it to be Old Dutch and New Dutch."

"You're just  _ Dutch, _ dearest."

"Sometimes it feels like there's two different people in my head. Or three."

Hosea's brow pinched.

"Why can't things be  _ simple?!" _

"Dutch-"

_ "Why am I crying?!" _

_ "Dutch van der Linde, look at me," _ Hosea snapped, leaning back and gently pushing Dutch away just far enough to meet his eyes, and Dutch's eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears and so clear they felt  _ sharp, _ like a knife's edge. "You're not right in the head. This ain't new information. I've known it since a year into knowing you, and twenty-four have passed since then, and I've loved you through all of them. But you got a devil inside you. I've seen it, I've known it, you've used it on me." Dutch's expression crumpled and he ducked his head, but Hosea grabbed his chin and snapped his head back up. "And you've been wrestling it, all these years. And you've been winning. But lately, you've been  _ losing, _ Dutch, again and again and  _ again. _ But  _ look at me." _

Dutch's eyes focused on his, looking like a prisoner, bound and helpless, awaiting an execution.

Hosea pushed their foreheads together once more, sweeping his hands up to frame Dutch's neck, bracketing his jaw with his thumbs as their breath ghosted over each other's faces, and all the frantic tension in him eased away, out of his hands and his frame and his face, leaving only tender soft reverence. "I don't care that you'll always have a devil in you," he breathed, stretching up to plant a kiss to the center of Dutch's forehead. "I only care if you stop trying to fight it."

A fresh wave of tears brimmed in Dutch's eyes, silently spilling over to stream down his cheeks, and he quivered for a long moment before he croaked, "Don't leave."

Hosea pulled him into an embrace. "I won't."

Dutch broke down into more sobs, clutching at his back. "Don't leave me. Please don't leave. Don't ever leave, please. Don't ever leave me again."

"My dearest, shefele, I won't, I  _ promise." _

_ "I love you." _

Hosea pressed a kiss to his temple. "I know." After a long moment, feeling Dutch's sobs shake him on his still very interested cock, seeing Dutch's slightly softened cock soften a little more, he asked, "Sweetheart, do you want to stop?"

Dutch shook his head and sniffled. "No, I-" He took a deep breath and roughly cleared his throat. "I wanna feel you," he gruffed, grinding his hips down and clamping his walls, making Hosea spasm.

"Okay," Hosea said softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his eye. "I wanna change positions with you on your back. Make you stop thinkin’, does that sound nice?"

Dutch nodded mutely, grabbing onto Hosea's shoulders and squeezing, firm.

“I need to hear you say it, dearest,” Hosea breathed.

Dutch melted against his front.  _ “Please.” _

"All right then," Hosea said lowly, nuzzling his jaw, and with that he slowly, gently turned them, rotating Dutch on his knee to ease him down onto his back, staying rooted into him as much as he was able. When Dutch's head hit the mattress, he reverently folded the man’s legs upwards and held them under his knees, gently coaxing them to hook over his shoulders, letting him slide his hands down to massage the back of Dutch’s thighs and hips. “Is the stretch not too much?”

Dutch huffed a strained laugh and shook his head.

“You’ll tell me if that changes?”

Dutch nodded.

“I need to hear you say it.”

Dutch shook his head - not in refusal, but as a way to force himself to become more present. “Yes,” he swore.

Hosea leaned down and kissed his cheek, breaking a tear track, then lowered his head to kiss his neck, then mouth at it, nibbling at the skin with his teeth in between long, languid suckles. Dutch reluctantly relinquished a breathy moan, and that was when Hosea mouthed his way up to Dutch’s ear, breathing, “Good boy.”

Dutch sharply inhaled, his hands fisting into the sheets, a broken, needy whine escaping his throat, and just like that, he was hard again, his abdomen flexing as he attempted to roll himself on Hosea’s cock, his eyes rolling back and then closing. Hosea wrapped his hands around Dutch’s shoulders, slowly caressing his hands down the thick swell of the man’s biceps - twice the size of his own, and that fact never failed to fill his gut with heat - and down the hard chords of his forearms before delicately grabbing his wrists, prying his hands up off the sheets to push them into the mattress on either side of his head, pinning them down and shifting his weight onto them, freeing his knees to spread and brace him to move his hips.

“It’s okay to cry,” Hosea said softly, slowly starting to roll his hips, deep drags that almost stretched his entire length, ending with a sharp snap at the end of each lazy thrust, each one drawing a whimper from Dutch’s mouth as tears continued to roll down his cheeks. “It’s just us here. Just you, and me, shefele. No past. No future. Just right now. Nothing else.”

Dutch hitched a breath and nodded, and Hosea leaned down, prying his lips apart to firmly lick into him, speeding up the pace of his hips, adding more power behind them - and his back and hips were complaining, but all of it was drowned beneath an ocean of pleasure, both in the flashes of ecstasy that shot through him every time he drove into the trembling warmth of Dutch’s body, so beautifully loose and open for him, and in the pangs of earnest joy that burst in his head and his heart like fireworks every time Dutch released a whimper or mewl or choked shout into his mouth.

After a few minutes, feeling Dutch’s muscles roil like an ocean underneath him, Hosea broke their kiss and breathlessly asked, “What do you feel, zeekskeit?”

“Good,” Dutch panted, his eyes slowly opening to gaze up at him, dark glinting pools of hazy lust, their tears still slowly leaking out, a valve that wouldn’t close now that it opened.

Hosea pecked his cheek and clarified, keeping his pace up, “Your  _ body, _ dearest. What are all the little things you’re feeling right now?”

Dutch blinked hard and shook his head slightly, hitching a breath. “I- Your- Y-Your hands. Pinning me. Your- mouth, and chest, shoulders, back- your- you-  _ hah, _ your-” he shuddered.

Hosea gave him one particularly forceful thrust, slotting his mouth over Dutch’s to capture his cry. “My what?” he breathed into his mouth.

“Cock,” Dutch choked, preceding a wheezed laugh.

“Oh, really? What’s it doing?”

Dutch’s wheeze graduated into a deep chuckle. “You k-know what it’s d-  _ doing.” _

Hosea snapped his hips in to the base and then  _ ground _ in a slow circle, making Dutch bury his face in the pillow to let out a low broken noise, before coming to a stop. Dutch heaved for breath and then looked at him, frantic. Hosea smirked at him, rubbing their noses together. “What do you  _ want  _ it to do?”

A furious blush colored Dutch’s cheeks and he grinned, wide, blinking loose more tears. “Bastard,” he spat. 

Hosea slowly started pulling out-

_ “No,” _ Dutch gasped, writhing, and Hosea had to work to pin his hands back down with a growl of effort. “I- Fuck me. Deep a-and- As much as you’ve got in you, Old Girl, I want it, please. Finish if you can. Fill me up. Don’t stop if I go first. Just- I want to see you feeling good. Let me see you let go.”

Hosea shuddered and felt his hips start rocking of their own volition. “Every time I tease you you get so sweet,” he drawled, kissing each corner of Dutch’s rolling eyes before slipping down to slot his mouth with Dutch’s once more, repositioning his knees to try and stave off the tingles a little longer as he reluctantly switched over from worrying about Dutch to chasing his own high, rutting into him at whatever pace, whatever rhythm and strength brought himself the most pleasure - far slower and easier than his golden-haired years, but Dutch didn’t seem to care. The shift of his focus quickly had him shuddering out his own moans and growls and whimpers into Dutch’s mouth, noises which seemed to drive the other man wild, always matching him note for note.

Eventually the pleasure got so much that he had to break their kiss in favor of gasping in ragged pants, changing his angle yet again to thrust in deeper still, and he must have found one that repeatedly grazed the sweet bundle of nerves inside Dutch, because the man went insane. His hands slammed into fists, his legs cinched around his shoulders in a vice grip, the muscles of his arms convulsed and flexed, forcing Hosea's hands upwards and overpowering him as his own muscles spasmed with the weakness of ecstasy. He repeatedly blinked his eyes open, forcing himself to watch Dutch snapping his head to the side to bite the pillow, listening to the broken sounds grinding out of the man's throat, feeling as Dutch's hands forced their way up to thread into and fist into his hair. Hosea's grip on his wrists failed, sending his hands plummeting down to splay out over his chest as he choked back his own cry into Dutch's knee.

The pain was building, but so was the ecstasy, the two of them crashing together in a heated brawl of which force won out. Dutch's hands in his hair grew frantic, alternating wildly through caressing and pulling, and Hosea drifted his gaze back to Dutch's face just in time to see the man's eyes go wide and desperate, finding his. The second their gazes connected, Dutch slammed his head back and arced his spine, his jaw opening in a silent scream, as his red and torturously neglected cock twitched and then started shooting seed in long splashes across the canvas of his stomach and abdomen, painting his dark hair and suntanned skin in streaks of white, coming completely untouched as his walls fluttered. Hosea fucked him through it, never stopping or slowing down, his mind completely blank save for the brilliant explosions of pleasure that shot through his entire frame as he watched Dutch come more and undone with each thrust.

After what could have been a matter of seconds or minutes - time had broken in that room, dissolving into meaninglessness - filled with Dutch heaving out sobs from the overstimulation mixed with breathless pleas of _ "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop _ ," ecstasy finally overcame pain in a brilliant and violent flare, causing him to snap his hips once, twice, before he opened his mouth in his own silent scream as he ground in as deep as he could go to the sweet symphony of  _ "Yes, yes, c-come on, Old Girl, m-mijn schatje, let go, f-fill me up," _ to empty himself inside of Dutch- his best friend- his partner- his soulmate.

And maybe, soon, his  _ husband. _

The thought quickly sent hot tears streaming down his own cheeks, his chest shuddering with deep sobs as his vision blurred beyond recognition. He felt Dutch's hands caress through his hair one more time before they slid down to shakingly hold his face, wiping away his tears with his thumbs. Dutch's soft, gentle voice came to him as an anchor. "Are you okay, darlin'...?" 

Hosea swallowed and hitched a breath, managing a shaky smile before it twisted to let out another sob, and he collapsed against Dutch's legs.

He felt Dutch gingerly, wincingly ease his legs down off of his shoulders, replacing them with his hands instead, and Hosea tucked his arms in so that Dutch could lower his legs to the mattress. Dutch caressed his hip with his ankle for a moment before coaxing him backwards. Hosea let himself be maneuvered, still too preoccupied with the shock of his burst dam to think much, faithfully going with Dutch wherever he led him, feeling his soft cock slip out of the man before strong arms guided him down onto his side, nestling his head on a pillow before he felt Dutch's face nestle itself into his collarbone, his arms winding themselves around his waist.

"Shhh… shh… it's okay, dearest… My dear Hosea, I'm here… I'm here…"

Hosea cried harder, hiding his face in the pillow as he brought his hands up to cradle the back of Dutch's head. Everything came pouring out as his walls came crumbling down - the grief, the fear, the regret, the doubt, the self-hatred. Jenny, Davey, Mac, Sean, Kieran. Eliza, Isaac. Annabelle. Bessie. Their baby, who never got to cry, not once. His mother, dead while she still breathed, staring blankly out a window as he tried to spoon-feed her, only for him to throw the plate in her lap. The burn of alcohol down his throat, the sight of Arthur flinching away from him with a glassy look of terror when he drunkenly staggered and moved towards him too quick. Every petty game Dutch ever played with him, every snarling screaming match, every time he ran away when he needed him to  _ be there, _ to  _ listen. _ The entire past year of loneliness and bitterness, bloodshed and fear, snowballing in an exponentially expanding pattern of crises in a world that wanted them all dead long ago.

The steady background noise of Dutch's murmured comforts faded away to nothing, and Hosea vaguely became aware of the world again when he felt Dutch curl into him, slinging a leg between his and sliding his arms down to grip and cradle him firmly by his ass and the small of his back, tucking his face against his abdomen and his nose in the hollow of his hipbone, his muscles going completely rigid where he laid wrapped around his stomach and abdomen and leg like a shield.

The bank heist was  _ everything. _ Their last, best shot at escaping with everyone alive. They’d run out of time. In truth, they already ran out of time, they were on  _ borrowed time, _ but the bank heist should still work, even with the Bronte fiasco, even with - everything. They just had to do it right. If everything just went  _ perfect. _ There was no room for any slip-ups, not anymore, and one mistake would be all it would take, just  _ one mistake, _ and it all could come crashing down, they could  _ lose people, _ but what choice did they have? What  _ choice  _ did he  _ have? _ He just wanted them to be alive, he just wanted them to be  _ safe, _ he would give anything and everything he had if they could all just  _ please make it out alive- _

“‘Of the terrible doubt of appearances... Of the uncertainty after all, that we may be deluded... That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all; That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable only... May-be the things I perceive, the animals, plants, men, hills, shining and flowing waters-’”

Hosea’s wail died down and he heaved in a stuttered breath as the old familiar words filtered through the haze, spoken in Dutch’s deep, steady voice in a slow and reverent tempo. He blinked repeatedly.

“‘-The skies of day and night, colors, densities, forms, may-be these are - as doubtless they are - only apparitions, and the real something has yet to be known-’” Dutch mashed his forehead into his hip and lightened his voice, summoning gravitas and power fit for a stage reading “‘-How often they dart out of themselves as if to confound me and mock me! How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows, aught of them-’” he nuzzled his head back against Hosea’s abdomen and calmed his voice once more, easing it over Hosea like a blanket “‘-May-be seeming to me what they are - as doubtless they indeed but seem - as from my present point of view, and might prove - as of course they would - nought of what they appear, or nought anyhow, from entirely changed points of view-’”

Hosea reached a hand up and wiped at his eyes, shuddering in a deep breath as a reluctant smile flickered onto his face like a weak ember. He’d heard this poem countless times over the decades. It was Dutch’s favorite, the one he held most dear to his heart, and he spoke it like a prayer, like an oath, like if Hosea could open his rib cage he could find the words written on the man’s heart.

“‘-To me these and the like of these are curiously answer'd by my lovers, my dear friends-’” Hosea shuddered out the tension in his body and lowered an arm to cradle Dutch’s head against his side, to splay his hand over his shoulder. “‘-When he whom I love travels with me or sits a long while holding me by the hand-’” He flexed his arm to hold Dutch closer. “‘-When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and reason hold not, surround us and pervade us, Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom... I am silent. I require nothing further.’”

Dutch paused for a long moment, slowly and purposefully tightening his hold, and Hosea’s tears slowed to a stop, the storm in his head fading into light gray mist as the first beams of hope broke through. He knew what lines would come next. 

“‘I cannot answer the question of appearances or that of identity beyond the grave, But I walk or sit indifferent...’” 

Hosea slowly closed his eyes and curled around Dutch in turn, bowing his chest around his head and raising a leg to hook over his side and hold him close, and Dutch curled into him impossibly tighter, his seed on his stomach pressing against Hosea’s bottom leg. Hosea could only smile, soft and reverent.

“‘...I am satisfied. He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.’”

And just like that… all the fear, all the doubt, all the regret… was still there, as omnipresent as ever, but suddenly irrelevant.

They had both lived so long. Lost so much. Been through so much together.

The world was still full of pain, still full of hatred, still flying past them both at a speed neither of them could possibly keep up with, turning back to look at them only with the oath of violence, to tear them apart with bloodied teeth stained red with the claimed lives of their kin.

There were so many demons, so many devils, so many storms and shadows all vying for them, gunning for them, from the outside and from within, hungering to destroy them.

But there, curled around each other, on that bed, on that night…

None of it could  _ touch them. _

For the time being, no matter what pains or torture or horrors the past or future held, in that sacred space where time had faded away… 

They were safe. They were alive. And they were  _ in love. _

“Dutch,” he said softly.

“Hosea,” Dutch whispered back, his voice thick.

There was a novel’s worth of words he wanted to say to that man, to communicate to him everything he was feeling - but he only needed three.

“Please don't leave,” he breathed. "No matter what happens… please… don't  _ leave." _

There was a long, heavy beat of silence as the weight of the words settled in the room.

Dutch swallowed. "I won't," he swore. And Hosea believed him. "We're going to face the future  _ together." _

“...Together.”

He ignored the swoop of his heart to hold Dutch just a little tighter. Dutch held him just a little tighter back.

They were covered in sweat and olive oil - Dutch's seed was still smeared on his stomach and Hosea's leg, and Hosea's seed was still leaking out of him - and they needed to clean themselves up, to do any number of things in preparation for morning, but the slight trembling in their muscles carried a mutual agreement.

They could hold each other just a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> [Hosea's poem](https://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1860/poems/84) is #8 from Walt Whitman's _Calamus_ collection.
> 
> [Dutch's poem](https://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1881/poems/52) is #7, also from Whitman's _Calamus._


End file.
